


Cpt Fick, in the Green Room, with the Mouth

by fandomfan



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Crack, M/M, POV Outsider, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-21
Updated: 2012-09-21
Packaged: 2017-11-14 17:27:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/517729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomfan/pseuds/fandomfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The time when Ray Person went to work for Oprah.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cpt Fick, in the Green Room, with the Mouth

**Author's Note:**

> When the banner went up for the recent Oorah! Generation Kill Porn Challenge, it was noted that the first word looked surprisingly similar to the name of a certain mistress of daytime TV, and the call went out to somehow include Oprah in the challenge responses.
> 
> This crackbrained fic was created out of my crazy brain, in partial response to the following Oprah-related prompts:
> 
>   * [noe](http://archiveofourown.org/users/noe)'s _Ray is on the show to talk about supporting our troops (and how not to do it). Rudy's been Oprah's trainer for a few months now and they're doing a body-conscious warrior piece together. Nate is on a book promotion tour. Stafford and Christeson were just trying to come out quietly. Brad wouldn't go on Oprah if you paid him. Writer's choice of pairings and situations. Extra points for crack and dialogue._
>   * [PJVilar](http://archiveofourown.org/users/PJVilar)'s _Some of the boys appear on Oprah in support of Evan's book. Then they do it in the green room._
>   * [chantefable](http://chantefable.livejournal.com)'s _Ray is employed by the Oprah Winfrey Network. This results in him getting laid._
> 


Ray Person is talking to Oprah.

“Come on, Big O, trust me. This guy’s a total get!”

He is conscious and sober and there are at least 3 witnesses in the room who could swear in a court of law that Joshua Ray Person is in conversation with Oprah “Queen of Motherfucking Daytime Television” Winfrey.

“Ray,” Oprah—yeah, that’s right, _Oprah_ —says, “this so-called ‘get’ is a grad student I’ve never heard of who’s written an autobiography before he’s even 35. Please explain to me how that makes him a desirable guest.”

“You cut me to the quick, Lady O! The lack of trust slays me. He’s not just any old grad student. He’s my LT!”

OK. Rewind. You probably want some kind of explanation to get you up to speed here, yeah?

Fine. So, really fast—because Ray’s _right_ on the edge of convincing Oprah to have Nate on the show to talk about his book—here’s the deal.

Step 1: Ray got out of the Marines.

Step 2: Ray went to college.

Step 3: Reporter hooked Ray up with a sweet internship at Harpo Productions (blah blah Medill School of Journalism blah blah connections blah blah blah).

Step 4: This one day, Ray happened to be expounding creatively and at length about world hunger and AIDS and population growth when Empress O herself was passing through the office.

Step 5: Ray found himself on the other side of a long, in-depth conversation about all of the above, which ended with him shaking hands with his new CO (Commanding Oprah) and coming aboard as an assistant producer.

Yes, in answer to your question. It gets him laid plenty, thanks for asking.

So now here’s Ray, trying to hook up his LT with a book-selling, PR goldmine of a guest spot on _The Oprah Winfrey Show_ that’ll make all his fellow Ivy League poli-sci heads-up-their-asses buddies piss themselves with jealousy.

“I’m telling you, O-Win, this guy is going places. He’s the only competent officer I ever had in the Marines. He’s scary smart, telegenic as all get-out, and without him I probably wouldn’t even be alive, much less working for your fine, fine self.”

Oprah’s skeptical face holds through most of that, but right at the end there she softens up a little. She looks searchingly at Ray for a minute, and then, like the badass businesswoman she is, she nods decisively.

“If you give him that much credit for getting you here, Ray, then I can give you the trust to bring him on the show.”

Ray beams at her. “You won’t be sorry!” he gushes. He’s awesome! She’s awesome! LT’s gonna shit a brick!

“Get the booker to call him, and work with the research team to start prepping questions,” Oprah says. “Now I’ve got a meeting with Cruise’s people about couch-jumping fall-out.”

“A general’s work is never done,” Ray says. He stands and salutes. Oprah laughs.

Ray leaves to put some motherfucking wheels in motherfucking motion.

{}{}{}

Fast forward a couple weeks, and Nate’s here for his taping.

Brad’s here, too, which is highly interesting. If you ask him, his story is that he was on leave, crashing with Nate, and a trip to Chicago seemed like more fun than staying out East all by his lonesome in the Godforsaken Land of the Liberal (direct quote).

If you ask Ray (and Walt did when they talked last week), you’d get a story that involves more educated guessing than Brad’s version, but also involves a metric fuckton more hot mano-a-mano lovin’ between a certain former officer and his certain former Sergeant. 

Ray’s educated guesses come with a college degree and a million bucks of Recon training. He’s pretty damn sure he’s right, but he’s determined to prove his suspicions before Brad and Nate leave.

And hey now… maybe sooner said than done, because as Ray approaches the green room where Nate’s getting ready for his taping, he can hear two voices in there. He does what any normal red-blooded American would do. He peeks through the gap where the door’s just a little bit ajar.

Nate’s wearing a collared shirt tucked into slim, dark jeans, and he’s adjusting his tie when Ray peers in. Brad’s lounging in one of the arm chairs in ratty cargo pants and a t-shirt whose logo has long since faded into illegibility.

“You could come out there with me,” Nate’s suggesting with an evil smirk.

In all Ray’s time in the sandbox with Brad and Brad’s general pissiness, he doesn’t remember ever seeing this level of disdain on those Aryan poster-boy features.

“I wouldn’t go on Oprah if you paid me.”

Nate smiles in this way that Ray didn’t think good Catholic schoolboys knew how to do. “I bet I could convince you.”

Yeah, this is totally confirming Ray’s suspicions.

“You and your mouth have persuaded me to commit many questionable acts over the years, but no, I will not appear on this bastion of flowers-in-rifles, patchouli-scented, armpit-hair-flaunting dendrophilia. Not even for your most accomplished demonstration of fellatio.”

Walt totally owes him $50! Ray thinks he should probably be surprised to finally know for sure that Brad and Nate are officially gay for each other, but back in OIF they were… yeah, he can’t really muster up any shock or outrage there.

“Your loss,” Nate shrugs. “I was all ready to offer up that demo right here.”

Brad gets this predatory look on his face that, in Ray’s experience, means something _really_ eviscerating is about to come out of his mouth. But instead, he says, “You’re still more than welcome to get in some practice.”

“But what’s in it for me if you don’t come on the show?” Nate asks.

Brad scoffs. “What’s in it for you is that you love my dick in your mouth more than just about anything in the world.”

 _Well damn, Iceman_ , Ray thinks. _Way to put that out there like nobody’s watching you_. And OK, so Brad doesn’t actually know anyone’s watching him, and maybe Ray shouldn’t be watching at all, but uh… Brad and Nate are some attractive motherfuckers—that doesn’t make him gay; it just means he has eyes—and Ray Person is _not_ about to turn down a front seat to the free, live porn he’s pretty sure is about to take place.

Yup, sure enough, Brad’s crowding Nate against the makeup table, and saying, “And when you’re done, I’ll get you off and send you out there on TV for the happy, corn-fed American viewing public, and they’ll have no earthly idea that the reason you look so fresh and vital is that you just fucked a Recon Marine backstage.”

Nate’s kinda flushed now. For a minute, Ray’s not sure he’ll go for it, cherry as he still seems, but Nate looks at his watch and then back at Brad and pops that cherry loud and juicy when he says, “Well I only have 10 minutes, so let’s be quick about it.”

 _One point for the LT_ , Ray thinks.

Nate turns Brad so he’s sitting on the edge of the makeup table and then kneels at his feet, undoing his pants with an efficiency born of much practice. Nate looks… fuck, he looks hungry. Ray spares a sad thought for the money he won’t be making on the hypothetical recording of what’s about to come.

And then Nate goes to town, and Ray doesn’t have any thoughts to spare from watching the filthiest, nastiest, cocksluttiest blowjob he’s ever seen unfold before his eyes. Nate goes for it like he’s on his own shock and awe campaign. He swallows Brad’s entire length straight down and stays there, swallowing repeatedly before he pulls back with a wet, smacking slurp that makes Ray’s dick twitch sympathetically in his pants.

Ray knows it’s got to feel as good as it looks, because the Iceman has totally left the building. Brad’s head drops back like his spine’s been cut, like he can’t bear to watch and feel at the same time, like he’s in the heaven to beat all heavens. He spouts a string of nonsense syllables that sound completely involuntary, and his hips shiver toward Nate’s mouth, only to be held back by the LT’s strong, long-fingered hands.

Damn! LT’s so good, he’s giving a hands-free BJ, and he’s _still_ gonna get Brad off in under 5 minutes. Guess all those jokes about his cocksucker mouth weren’t so far off the mark.

Sure enough, there’s Brad, shuddering all over now and shoving one hand into his own mouth to muffle a loud-as-fuck groan while the other hand forces Nate’s head all the way down to Brad’s belly and holds him there. And Nate just stays, taking it like a champ while Brad very obviously comes down his throat.

When he pulls away, that choirboy-gone-wrong smirk is on his face again as he wipes the back of one hand across his mouth and stands. He smoothes his hair and cracks his jaw side to side, and for fuck’s sake, he doesn’t even look all that mussed. Except that he looks like he just got collagen injections in his lips. Like he needed it.

Brad moves a hand toward Nate’s fly, and Nate stops him. “It’ll keep,” he says. “Sure you don’t want to come on the show with me?”

Brad looks like he’s considering it for a minute, and seriously, that right there is the best testament to the high quality of that blowjob. But then he shakes himself and puts his cool back on and says, “Nice try, Fick. And I do mean _nice_ try.”

“Can’t blame a guy for giving it his very best effort.” Nate smiles and reaches for the mouthwash on the makeup table. This time it’s Brad who stops his hand.

“Don’t,” Brad says, voice low and kind of growly. “I want you to go out there half hard and tape your interview with Oprah Winfrey with the taste of my come in your mouth.”

“And what’s in it for me?” Nate asks.

“What’s in it for you is that when we get back to the hotel, you can break open the brown-paper-wrapped box on the table, and use whatever’s inside on me in whatever way you see fit for the rest of the night.”

Ray wants to know what’s in that box and where he can get it, because Nate lights up like a ton of arty on a moonless desert night.

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” Nate says.

“I knew you’d see it my way,” Brad nods. And Ray takes that as his cue to enter the scene.

Because he has grown as a human being, he does not immediately call them out on their rainbow-flag-waving love that dare not speak its name.

Instead, he says, “LT, you ready?”

Nate nods and asks, teasingly, “Brad, you sure you don’t want to go out there with me?”

Brad looks thunderous. So, you know, like Brad.

Nate laughs. “I’ll be back in a while,” he says.

“I’ll be here,” Brad replies, casual.

“I know,” Nate says, and the easy happiness in his face is enough to reaffirm Ray’s decision to let sleeping blowjobs lie as he escorts Nate toward the studio and thinks about what to do with that $50 from Walt.


End file.
